


The Dance

by thesolemneyed



Series: Minghao Dancer Series [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creepy, Discussions of death, Drabble, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Minor Character Death, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesolemneyed/pseuds/thesolemneyed
Summary: Minghao gives his humanity away as if it were a flower to a pretty girl.He gifts it - no, that would imply it held some weight, some meaning - he shrugs it off like a cloak after a long journey, too heavy, too cumbersome.He only realises his mistake when it is too late.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: Minghao Dancer Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127771
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: Seventeen Holidays





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just have to write pretentiously about Minghao's amazing dancing...you just gotta
> 
> This is going to make _more_ sense if you've read the first part, but still not a lot
> 
> 17Hols fill :^)

Humanity is tangible.

It is a mother fawning over her infant child, smothering unseen wounds and hurts with soothing kisses.

It is the quivering of the heart, standing at the base of a mountain, fearsome and awesome

It is the melting of one person into another; two becoming one in the blackest hours of the night, with promises and declarations the only thing between them.

Humanity is fragile.

It is lost in the space between two breaths, two heartbeats. That slow, monotonous _forever_ simply vanishing in the blink of an eye, leaving a shell, a carcass.

It is a bright spark blown into smoke by a careless child.

It is a song without echo.

Minghao gives his humanity away as if it were a flower to a pretty girl.

He gifts it - no, that would imply it held some weight, some meaning - he shrugs it off like a cloak after a long journey, too cumbersome to carry any further.

He only realises his mistake when it is too late.

When the chill of the night sky and the warmth of his mother’s eyes both stir the same nothingness within him.

When ashes and bread and wine and company are all equally meaningless in his stomach.

When the icy hand of his best friend lies still in his, his glassy eyes unblinking yet forgiving.

Jun had been the only one to see the creature he had become, was becoming more and more each day. He had tried to speak to Minghao about it, to convince him back to safety and to warmth and to _home._

But home has no meaning with no soul, and so Minghao rises from his knees, his face blank, and walks past the grieving family, past their aching faces, and returns to the forest.

He used to fear being alone more than anything in the whole world. The judgement of the word, the inherent absence contained within.

He isn’t always alone in the forest.

Sometimes a stray will wander to him, pulled by the song from his heart. They’ll stumble over the uneven roots and branches on the ground, their approach louder than thunder. He can taste their sweat, their fear, their wonder.

He smiles, but only for their benefit. Only so they stay.

But, once he has what he wants from them, they never stay for long.

Although, he supposes, neither did he. Maybe it’s only normal, only natural.

Not that what they are can ever be considered _normal_.

But this one is different. His eyes hold a constellation of laughs and, although Minghao can smell the terror boiling under his skin, his face is somehow still warm.

For the first time in many lifetimes, Minghao feels a spark of that warmth in himself.

He douses it before more of him can catch alight, but, in that moment, he almost hesitates, nearly falters.

“Dance with me.”

He doesn’t know why he offers this; he never usually would.

There is a feeling adjacent to relief when the man shakes his head.

Maybe he really is different to the rest.

Maybe Minghao can let this one go.

But then he hears the footprints in the glade, heavy and human. “Wait,” he calls after him. He is weaker than Minghao had hoped.

He forces his smile back onto his face, the relief curdling into disappointment, another thing he hasn’t felt for as long as he could remember.

He has remained the same over these years or centuries or maybe more.

And, just the same, humanity has remained thus: tangible, fragile, and _predictable_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! It kind of answered...some of the questions I had about the first part! 
> 
> Come hang out on twitter (@thesolemneyed)


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